Royal Protocol. Dana Marton

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СКАЧАТЬ Nobody had. All noise had stopped, in fact, over an hour ago, as if all staff had cleared out.

      She had tried to leave several times, but the ancient key had gotten stuck in the lock then broke right off when she’d tried to force it. She had shouted for help to the point of risking damage to her vocal cords, but nobody had answered.

      And then, at last, she heard her name called.

      “Rayne!”

      She’d never been as glad to hear another sound in her life. She thought she recognized the voice. “Prince Benedek?”

      The door handle rattled.

      “It’s stuck.”

      “Stand back,” he said.

      The door burst open with a bang in the next second.

      “Are you all right?” He stood in the threshold like some theatrical hero, in his impeccable tux and with blazing eyes. She noticed again how tall he was, the breadth of his shoulders, the incredible depth of his gaze. His was the kind of presence critics called “mesmerizing” in a performance.

      He was years younger than her, for heaven’s sake.

      She gathered herself and stomped out even the smallest spark of attraction. “Fine. Thank you.” She smoothed her hair into place and lifted her chin. She hated anyone seeing her shaken.

      His bodyguard stood outside in the hallway, inclined his head. “Madam.”

      Benedek took her hand without preamble and pulled her after him. Again, his touch was electrifying, his hand enfolding hers, warm and secure. She’d taken her gloves off earlier, and now found the skin-to-skin touch disconcerting.

      “Where’s everyone else?” The utter silence of the building had been making her increasingly nervous.

      “The rebels let the audience leave. Only fifteen of us stayed here. Including you. The building is locked down.”

      “So they can’t get in?” Oh, good.

      “So we can’t get out.”

      Her lungs constricted. “We’re trapped?”

      The tight expression on his face was enough of an answer.

      “Where are we going?” she asked, but he began talking into his headset, something she hadn’t noticed earlier.

      “I’ve got Rayne. We’re on our way to the restaurant. Found any bombs yet?” He paused to listen. “Seek cover.”

      She went weak in the knees. “What bomb? Did they find it? What do you mean?”

      “The rebels might have explosives in the building.” He glanced at his watch and was now out and out running.

      “Why are we going to the restaurant?” She ran up the stairs by his side.

      He let her hand go so she could hold up the folds of her voluminous skirt with both hands and not trip. She no longer cared about wrinkling her gown before the performance. There would be no performance tonight. They would be lucky if they still had an opera house when this was all over. Or if they were still alive. She reached the top and dashed through the gilded swinging doors.

      Benedek ran straight for the back. “Industrial meat cooler,” he said, as if that explained anything.

      Then they were through the kitchen and at the giant, stainless-steel doors. He pushed up the lever and opened the door. They just about fell inside, his bodyguard leaping in after them.

      The first thing she registered was that the place was empty, the second that it wasn’t freezing. Hadn’t been turned on yet. Thank God, since her dress was rather open on top. Then the door slammed shut, and they were enveloped in darkness.

      An explosion shook the building, ten times stronger than the previous two. Whatever blew up now had been a lot nearer.

      She was about rattled off her feet, careful to put out a steadying hand toward the wall and not toward the prince. But his hand shot out in the darkness, went around her waist and secured her. He was so close that she could feel his heat, the strong, solid presence of his body. Bombs, he’d said earlier. There could be more. Even closer than the last one.

      Oh, to hell with self-composure for once. She grabbed on to his arm in a death grip.

      She disliked wealthy men of privilege on principie. She was even more wary of Benedek, who’d watched her with a singular intensity during her performances, and at times made it difficult for her to completely immerse herself in whatever role she was playing. No other man had ever been able to do that to her, and she resented his ability to mess with her head.

      But right now he was the closest thing to hang on to, and hang on she did.

      “Easy,” Benedek said next to her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck, tickling its way down her skin.

      Half of her was preparing for death. Her other half was…tingling.

      He had a soapy scent, very expensive soap, masculine but non-obtrusive, with a trace of spice that made her want to lean closer to catch more. Instead, she peeled her fingers off his arm as her initial panic ebbed and took a deep, steadying breath from the opposite direction. She couldn’t be losing her composure just because they’d touched. They weren’t even alone, for heaven’s sake.

      When, after long minutes, no further explosions came, he moved away from her. The light came on the next second. He was standing by the door. He’d probably flipped the switch.

      He exchanged a glance with his bodyguard, emotions swirling in his dark eyes. Anger, out-and-out fury, was dominant. Then something else came into his gaze when he looked at her. “Are you all right?”

      She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. A bomb just went off in the building. This wasn’t normally part of the whole opera singer experience. Lockdown or not, they needed to get the hell out of here. There had to be a way.

      His bodyguard was already opening the door and checking outside.

      “What are we waiting for?” she asked when Benedek hesitated for a moment.

      “There are two more bombs,” he said.

      “I APOLOGIZE. If I’d known that something like this would happen, if I thought that the country wasn’t a hundred percent safe, I would have never allowed you to come here,” Benedek told her.

      “Yes. Well.” She seemed shaken, but was covering it up admirably, holding her head high and her spine straight, as regal as any queen. “I can hardly blame you. I’m sure you didn’t plan on getting blown up. What do they want?”

      The kitchen was in shambles, chairs turned over, pots and pans scattered on the floor.

      He shook his head. “We should find the others.”

      “What do they want?” She wasn’t easily distracted.

      “They want the monarchy gone,” he said, as his headset crackled to life.

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